


Looking for a lover to burn

by wowziam



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, i also don't like tags, if you couldn't tell, like 5k of this is the smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 14:15:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2776037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wowziam/pseuds/wowziam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can’t help it. Professor Malik is really, really fit. He truly is. Liam says so at least a couple times a day, whether he has the class or not. (And seeing him three days a week doesn’t really cut it, believe it or not.)</p><p>“Can’t believe he’s failing you though,” Louis mutters from the couch, feet kicked up on the worn-out coffee table (and Liam’s told him many times not to do that, because he’s eaten off of that table before and it’s just not sanitary, but Louis doesn’t listen so Liam’s stopped trying). “Like, you’re not so hot on the tests but you do all of the work. I’ve seen it. Failing’s a bit much, isn’t it? Fuck him.”</p><p>“Bet he’s tried to,” Harry offers, and Niall bursts into a fit of giggles over that, which is like—honestly. Liam just thinks he’s attractive. It’s not even that big of a deal. They make more of a fuss over it than he does.</p><p>-</p><p>Or the one where Niall likes beer, Harry likes to fuss, Liam likes Zayn much more than he should, Zayn likes glasses, and Louis likes to accidentally play matchmaker.</p><p> </p><p>-<br/>for the Ziam Winter Fic Exchange</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking for a lover to burn

**Author's Note:**

> Figured a fic exchange would be a good way to write my first Ziam fic?  
> Also, sorry that it's not longer. You can blame school for that.
> 
> Here was my prompt:
> 
> Liam Payne—leader of Cobalt University’s most popular fraternity. His only job: keep the rising standards of their prestigious frat intact. It was his job as leader to make a statement, show all those outsiders that their frat had what it takes to remain on top—to do what no frat has ever challenged it’s leader to do before: sleep with a teacher and cast him aside as another notch in their fraternity’s bedpost. Liam had the perfect person in mind. Zayn Malik—Cobalt’s most popular English professor. Liam always thought go big or go home, but he never realized how big until seeing those amber eyes behind thick square-framed glasses. Or how his tattooed covered body, warm smile, jubilant laugh, fiery energy felt more like home than Liam could ever explain.

Nobody’s particularly surprised that Liam’s failing English (it’s never been his strongest subject—you should see his texts sometimes). Except he’s not even failing because he’s bad at the class, it just has more to do with the fact that he spends most of his time ogling his professor instead of paying attention to the lesson.

He can’t help it. Professor Malik is really, _really_ fit. He truly is. Liam says so at least a couple times a day, whether he has the class or not. (And seeing him three days a week doesn’t really cut it, believe it or not.) 

“Can’t believe he’s failing you though,” Louis mutters from the couch, feet kicked up on the worn-out coffee table (and Liam’s told him many times not to do that, because he’s eaten off of that table before and it’s just _not sanitary_ , but Louis doesn’t listen so Liam’s stopped trying). “Like, you’re not so hot on the tests but you do all of the work. I’ve seen it. Failing’s a bit much, isn’t it? Fuck him.”

“Bet he’s tried to,” Harry offers, and Niall bursts into a fit of giggles over that, which is like—honestly. Liam just thinks he’s attractive. It’s not even that big of a deal. They make more of a fuss over it than he does.

(It’s not exactly a secret, is the thing, and all the guys in the house have teased him over it at least a handful of times each.)

Louis snorts, and then he gets this look on his face and Liam’s already ready to be scared. That face always equates to Louis getting some idea for some sick plan that ends up with them all in deep shit. And if he’s making that face in regards to something about Professor Malik, then Liam’s really not about to have it. “What if he does? Fuck him, I mean. It’d raise his grades up at least.”

Liam groans. This is what he meant. Because only Louis would suggest having sex with a teacher and be completely serious about it. “ _Lou_.”

“I’m not kidding,” Louis says, kicking his feet off of the table and sitting up straight on the old, sunken-in couch. (That couch, however, is Liam’s safe haven, and he’s spent many nights on it when Niall’s snoring got to be too much.) “Think about it, Liam. You’re the leader of the greatest frat _in the world_ —”

“False,” Liam says, but Louis disregards him anyway, which stopped being a surprise two years ago when they all met.

“—and do you know what kind of a statement that would make? Sleeping with a teacher and getting away with it? Fucking your way up to the top and then just marking him out on your proverbial bedpost?” He pauses for a second, thinking. “Proverbial, unless you actually do that. I know somebody here does.”

“It’s Andy,” Harry shrugs, and Liam’s eyes widen. They can’t honestly be serious, and why is nobody finding anything wrong with this? Liam can’t be the only one with red flags going off right now. He knows he’s the most level-headed, but he can’t be the only one here with common sense.

At the moment, he’s pretty sure that he is.

“This is a joke, right?” 

Louis rolls his eyes. “You know me too well at this point to know when I’m joking, Liam. This is not one of those times.”

“You honestly want me to fuck my teacher. For—?”

“To get your grade up, frat stats, self-satisfaction,” Louis shrugs, kicking his feet up again and beckoning Niall to hand him a remote as he starts up FIFA. “The possibilities are endless, Liam. You’ve got the charm for it.”

Liam sighs. He needs new friends.

__________

The next time he has English, that Friday at noon, he’s half-an-hour late. Despite already being a walking cliché with the whole crush-on-hot-teacher deal, he also works at the campus café. He’d had to stay back to help Andrea out since Michael was running late, and now _he’s_ running late. He’s not exactly making a good impression, is the thing.

Also, his jacket smells like weed. Well it’s Niall’s jacket, because he nicked it this morning, but it stinks of weed and it’s not like he’s got time to go back and change now.

So when he gets to English, half-an-hour into the class he just ducks his head, shuffling to the back. When he gets into his seat he catches Professor Malik’s gaze for just a quick second behind his glasses (that shouldn’t look nearly as sinful as they are) and sighs, dropping his head on the table in front of him.

He’s left his backpack in the breakroom at the café.

Liam lets out a groan, this long, drawn-out groan that has the girl sitting next to him looking over in concern. And then he sighs again, slumping his shoulders and picking his head up, vowing that he would at least pay attention to the lesson, this time.

He ends up zoning out halfway through, thinking back to what Louis had said the night before, about having a one night stand with his teacher. Honestly, Liam doesn’t think he has the guts to do it, whether he wanted to or not. Sleeping with a teacher is risky, serious business, and even if it will raise his grade (which is only a _possibly_ ) and make their frat look better (which is a _definitely_ , but still), Liam still doesn’t know if he can do it. It just puts a lot of pressure on a man, is all.

But then he thinks about that lithe body beneath his, wants to know the kind of sounds he’d make underneath, wants to hear his name roll off of his teacher’s tongue—and hell. Liam’s considering it. He’s actually considering it.

The only thing that’s keeping him sane about the whole thing is that it would only happen once. It would happen once and it’d be over with; his infatuation would go away, and Louis would probably never bug him to do anything again.

So Liam can do this. He can so do this.

He continues to pump himself up as he realizes that people are starting to get up, checking his phone and realizing that class has ended without him even noticing. He curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He’s really a mess today. Which, yes, he can probably say on most days, but more than usual today. He needs to get it together.

He stands up, stretching, reaching down for his bag instinctively before he realizes that he _forgot it_ —and that’s an extra trip back to the café that he really didn’t need—and hears his back crack before shouldering on Niall’s weedy jacket again. Taking a breath, he pats his pocket to make sure that he at least has his phone before heading towards the door.

“Mr. Payne?”

Liam freezes for a second before concluding that there’s no way that Professor Malik just said his name. Nope. It didn’t happen, and Liam’s probably just more tired than he thought. He’s going to take a nap when he gets back, because he’s pretty sure that hallucinating voices is not good.

“Mister—uh, Liam?”

Liam tenses again, but this time actually stops walking and turns around. There’s no way that he imagined this twice. “Yes?”

Professor Malik looks up from the paper that he’d been frowning at—probably the roster, to make sure that he got Liam’s name right, or at least that’s Liam’s guess—to lean back against his desk. (Liam wants to fuck him on that desk.) “Are you alright? Seemed a bit out of it today.”

Liam scratches the back of his neck. “I—ah—uh, yeah. I’m just—work ran late, and I forgot my stuff—and just, really—not a good day?”

What an impressive sentence to string together in front of your English teacher. Liam wants to punch himself.

Professor Malik seems to think this over for a second, looking Liam up and down before giving him the tiniest of head nods. “Alright. Just doing my job, which involves looking out for my students. So if anything’s wrong, I’m up to talk.”

Liam nods, and wonders if his teacher is aware at this moment that Liam’s failing. Probably not. He’s grateful for that.

And then Professor Malik opens his mouth again. “That includes asking for extra-credit opportunities.”

Liam has the decency to look a bit sheepish, alright. He knows he blushes easily and is probably partially red right now, puffing out his cheeks before attempting a semblance of a smile. “Right. I’ll—I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.”

Professor Malik nods at him before turning back to the mess on his desk, and Liam realizes that that’s his cue to go. He clears his throat, throwing half a wave over his shoulder in case his teacher looks up, and briefly wonders how he’s supposed to have sex with someone if he can barely keep up a conversation with them.

__________

The next time that he sees Professor Malik, he’s at work. It’s a Sunday afternoon, which equates to Slow Day, and Liam’s grateful. Only a handful of people have entered the café since his shift had started, and he’s taken it upon himself to pull up a stool to his spot behind the register and spread out some of his notes to read. Harry had just stopped by a couple of minutes ago, toting Maz along with him and causing a ruckus, but that’s the most excitement that Liam’s had all day.

Right now, he’s getting paid to sit behind a counter and study, and he’s just fine with that.

Until the bell above the entrance rings, and Liam sighs, dragging his eyes away from his books before standing up and putting on his best Customer Friendly face. Niall says he’s quite good at it, but then again it’s Niall, so he doesn’t really take that opinion to heart. Niall sees the best in everyone.

Liam smooths out his apron before looking up, and _fuck._ His fucking English professor is standing right in front of him, eyes scanning the menu plastered above Liam’s head.

Liam takes a breath and tries to sound as cool, calm, and collected as possible. “Hi, what can I get for you today?”

His professor blinks as if he didn’t notices that it was Liam in front of him, and then offers a smile. “So this was the work that had you entering my class 30 minutes after it started, then?”

Liam quirks his lips into a grin. “We were understaffed. I had to help.”

“Good Samaritan, then.” Professor Malik looks back at the menu before biting his lip (which he shouldn’t do anywhere near Liam at all. Ever) and eventually shrugging. “Whatever you recommend. I don’t come here often, if you haven’t noticed.”

Liam had, because he definitely didn’t remember seeing him enter the café before but then had just figured that he came in whenever Liam wasn’t working. But he doesn’t voice that, turning to the coffee machines on his left. “I’ll just make you what I like best, then. And why are you here now then, if you don’t come here all that much?”

“Flat above me was being noisy and I couldn’t grade papers,” was the response. “Came on campus to grade in my office before I realized I left the keys back at my flat. Went to the library only to discover it crowded and a lot louder than any library is supposed to be. So I figured that here was my best choice.”

Liam nods, waving out his arm around the near-empty store. “As you can see, we’re just filled with customers.” He finishes making the drink in silence, and then, just to be cheeky, asks, “Name?”

“I thought that you were supposed to ask that before making the drink?”

Liam shrugs. “Name?”

His professor only snorts, shaking his head and puling out his wallet. “Zayn. And how much?”

Liam writes _Zayn_ on the side of the cup with a goofy smiley face, inspecting his work. “On the house.”

“You know that’s not going to raise your grade any, right?”

Liam’s eyes widen at that and he gets ready to give a fumbled response about how that’s not what he’s trying to do when Professor Malik—when _Zayn_ shakes his head.

“Bad joke, sorry. Thanks, mate.”

Liam nods, giving him a dopey shrug. “It’s no problem. Hope you like it.”

(He’s not any closer to fucking Zayn, but Zayn called him mate and Liam thinks it’s the smallest victories that count the most.)

He ends up being hyperaware of Zayn the entire rest of his shift, because Zayn’s taken up a whole booth, papers spread out everywhere and a red pen in his hand. After a little, Zayn takes off his jacket, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and revealing a litany of tattoos that Liam had never seen before.

He didn’t expect it, the overload of ink. On one arm the entire length of arm that Liam can see is _covered_ in tattoos, and Liam swears that Zayn’s taught with his sleeves rolled up before, hasn’t he? How would Liam not notice that?

He tries to stop staring but he can’t. They’re entrancing, the tattoos, and Liam wants to know how they’d feel under his tongue, under fingertips, under his lips. Wants to brand his own tattoo right next to them.

He blinks, clearing his head, but not before Zayn meets his eyes across the room. Zayn lifts up his cup, giving Liam a nod. “It’s good,” he mouths.

Liam gives him a thumbs up, and makes sure not to look up from his notes until Zayn leaves.

__________

“That’s all well and good Liam, but you’ve made no sexual progress.”

“He’s in _love_ ,” Harry bites back at Louis, kicking at his legs. “Leave him alone.”

“I’m not in love,” Liam sighs. “I just think he’s rather fit.”

“He’s rather fit and you wanna have his babies,” Niall adds, and Liam bites back his comment about how it’s gotten too cold for Niall to wear tank tops everyday like he is now, instead rolling his eyes.

“That’s not even biologically possible, Niall. Thank you.”

“ _Biologically_ ,” Louis murmurs, highlighter busy against some book, “that’s a big word for you. Your English-teaching lover teach it to you?”

To be fair, that’s not even a big word for Liam. He can have an extensive vocabulary when he wants to. “Fuck off, all of you. Leave me alone.”

“It’s okay to have a crush on him, Liam,” Harry tells him a bit sympathetically, and Louis scoffs from his spot on the floor and adds a, “He’s only saying that because he wanted to bang Grimshaw from two years back.”

Harry has no shame when he shrugs. “He was fit.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Liam says. “It was a one time kind of thing. He only came to the café because it was his third choice. Said so himself.”

__________

It’s not a one-time thing. Liam’s got work that next Wednesday before, ironically enough, his English class, and there’s a lot more people in here on Wednesdays than there are on Sundays, that’s for sure. Liam only works on Wednesdays if there’s nobody else available. He’s a people-person, yes, but not to the point that he’d enjoy this.

He’s just gotten a chance to breathe when the door swings open again, and he lets out a little gust of breath, ready to plaster on another fake smile when he realizes who it is. His smile is quickly replaced with wide eyes, and he has to blink twice just to make sure that he’s seeing correctly.

Zayn wastes no time in striding up to the counter. “Good, you’re here. I came here yesterday to get what you made me, but I didn’t know what it was called and you weren’t working. Figured I’d try my luck again today.”

“Good call.” Liam immediately goes to make his drink in case somebody else enters the café, and Zayn asks to his back, “You want to tell me the name of this mystery drink?”

Liam smirks towards the wall. If he doesn’t tell him, then the only time that Zayn would ever be able to order this again is when Liam’s around. It’s a bit selfish, but Liam likes that. Likes having that power. “A gentleman never tells.”

Zayn makes a noise at that, and when Liam turns around, coffee in hand, Zayn’s pulling out his wallet again. “How much?”

“I told you last time, it’s—”

“You can’t keep giving out free coffee, Liam.”

“It’s on the house.”

Zayn sighs but doesn’t look like he wants to argue, accepting the cup and taking a gracious sip. He starts to back away from the counter, shaking his head at Liam before calling out, “Don’t be late to class,” over his shoulder.

Later on, Liam is not late to class. He slides into a seat right around when the clock strikes noon, and he notices the coffee cup sitting on Zayn’s desk. It makes him smile, and he tries not to meet anyone’s gaze.

__________

The next time that Zayn visits the café, instead of writing his name out the cup, Liam scrawls out _The guy with the SICK tattoos_ and watches as Zayn fails to notice it. His heart falls, but the next time in class when he’s getting his paper back (that, while a 75, is better than a 70) along with notes on the essay, Zayn’s written something extra at the top.

_Saw your note about my tattoos on the cup, almost didn’t see it! Thanks! (Still doesn’t raise your score. Joking, again.)_

__________

Three weeks later, and while Liam is no closer to ending up in Zayn’s bed he has, at least, managed to talk to him without turning red and/or stuttering. Zayn’s started coming in the café to grade papers more often, spreading out along the same booth near the right-hand corner of the shop. He’s wearing a sweater today and he looks so cozy with his glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose, and Liam wants to drown in him. Or something.

“Liam.”

Liam looks up at his name being called, checking around the café to make sure that the coast is clear for him to leave his spot before going over to Zayn’s booth. It really should be Zayn’s Booth, capital B, because Liam has officially dubbed it his. “Yes?”

Zayn gives him a very calculating look, before holding up the paper that Liam had pulled out of his ass two nights ago about a book that he hadn’t even finished. “How much of the novel did you actually read?”

Liam feels like a deer caught in headlights, eyes widening and heart pounding and wondering how odd it would be for him to just make a run for it. “I, uh—”

“Obviously not enough to correctly respond to your prompt,” Zayn says. He’s not judging Liam—or at least Liam doesn’t think he is—and purses his lips. “You realize that you’re failing, right Liam? And that you really can’t afford to not finish the novels that I’ve given you plenty of time to read?”

Liam nods. He feels like he just caught shoving his hand inside of the cookie jar. “I know. I just—it was _boring_.”

“Boring,” Zayn repeats. “You’re not going to like everything that you’re assigned to complete. That doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t complete it.”

“I know, I—I just—I,” Liam shrugs, feeling helpless. He really has no excuse. “I know, yeah.”

Zayn lets out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Because you make excellent coffee for free, I’m going to let you rewrite this. This time only, _and_ you have to promise that you’ll _finish_ the book in a timely manner.”

“That probably isn’t going to happen,” Liam tells him honestly. “The finishing the book. I mean, it was boring, and it was confusing. I didn’t get it.”

Zayn rubs his hands over his face, letting out a long, drawn-out sigh and taking a sip of his coffee. He stares at Liam’s paper again like his gaze will somehow make it better before frowning and turning to Liam again. “Alright. Here’s the deal. I’ll go over the book with you, but I’m not helping you on the essay. And it’s just this once. And it’s only because you’re a god with a coffee machine.”

Liam grins. It’s the kind of grin he does when he gets really excited and he can’t help himself and he knows his eyes sort-of disappear and he looks like a right idiot, but he doesn’t even care. “And you said free coffee wasn’t going to raise my grade.”

Zayn shakes his head, but scribbles down his number for Liam to take anyway in case he’s not open for Zayn’s office hours or Zayn can’t make it to the café.

Liam ends his shift completely over the moon. He’s shot over it, around it, through it, and he’s ended up on Cloud Nine.

__________

“You should text him,” Niall says, bringing the bottle up to his lips. Harry yells at him, because that beer is _for the party, Niall, Christ_ and Liam thinks that if anybody should be married it’s those two.

“That’d be weird, though.” Liam’s stopped helping set up for parties ages ago. Somehow he always ends up cleaning up after them, and for that he’s stopped with the set up. If any of the other boys mind, they never say it to Liam’s face.

“Just text him asking if you can set up a date to meet, Liam.” Harry sounds like a mother, and Liam frowns at him.

“You think I should? What if he thinks it’s weird?”

“Then he won’t answer you,” Niall answers, letting out this loud sort of belch that’s only not repulsive because Niall’s the one that did it. “It’s not that hard, Payno.”

“He’s my _professor_.”

“Then _don’t_ text him. It doesn’t really matter.”

Liam sighs at them, heading to his room to flop on his bed. He’s looking forward to the party tonight because they haven’t had one in a while, and he’s more than ready to drown his sorrows in alcohol.

And it doesn’t even make _sense_. All Liam wants is to raise his grade and maybe sleep with Zayn while he’s at it, and yet the bloke is making Liam’s head spin like he’s already six drinks deep. He doesn’t _get_ it. Zayn’s just really nice to look at, and Liam’s stupid heart is acting like he’s already half in love with him or something.

Liam snorts and pulls out his phone.

 **_To Zayn:_ ** _hi, its Liam! Just texting to know when we can meet for the book?_

He reads the text three times and pushes send before he groans into his pillow and realizes that he put the wrong _it’s_. And that’s just embarrassing.

Before he can contemplate dropping his English class altogether he gets a text.

 **_From Zayn:_ ** _Hi Liam, when’s the next time you’re free (no classes/work)? :) x_

Liam’s heart is not pounding because Zayn put a smiley face and an _x_ at the end of his message. It’s definitely in anticipation for the party that’s about to start. Besides, Zayn probably does it for everybody, Harry always adds an _.x_ for everybody and so that’s probably what Zayn does too.

 **_To Zayn:_ ** _next day I’m free is Wednesday after your class_

 **_From Zayn:_ ** _Well that rules out the cafe then, too busy on a Wednesday to concentrate._

 **_To Zayn:_ ** _and I doubt you’d like to come down to the frat house :D_

Liam hopes Zayn laughs at that. Or at least, like, cracks a smile. Or something besides just thinking how much of a loser Liam is. (Because although that’s something Liam has come to accept, he’d rather not have his really attractive professor think so as well.)

 **_From Zayn:_ ** _Yeah I’ll pass aha. My flat is free though? x_

Liam swallows.

 **_To Zayn:_ ** _sounds good, we can pick a time later?_

Zayn doesn’t text him back, and Liam is almost positive that it’s not normal teacher etiquette to invite students over to your place of residence. Offer to help them, maybe, but not invite them over to your flat.

Liam sighs. This is too much thinking with too little alcohol, and he can’t wait to get smashed tonight.

__________

Liam’s got a headache, his mouth tastes like ass, and judging by the marks on his neck that he sees when entering the bathroom (that looks like a tornado hit it and more, and Liam’s positive that somebody pissed in their bathtub) he got some action last night. He can’t remember much from the night before but he just hopes that he didn’t make too much of a fool of himself.

He does his business and splashes some water on his face, brushing his teeth before going to his room and searching for a shirt. He’ll take a shower later, he swears, after he finds something to cure his headache.

After taking some Advil, forcing down a piece of toast, and finally finding his cell phone sandwiched between some couch cushions after calling it three times, he checks his phone for that first time that morning. (Well, the first time that day, considering it’s well past noon.)

He blanches when he sees he has few text messages waiting.

 **_From Zayn:_ ** _Did you drunk dial me? x_

 **_From Zayn:_ ** _I believe you did._

 **_From Zayn:_ ** _Thanks for complimenting my arse, by the way. Much appreciated. x_

Liam closes his eyes and counts to ten.

He doesn’t get drunk often. He doesn’t _like_ getting drunk because despite his size, he’s kind of a lightweight and it doesn’t take much to get him tipsy and for his tongue to get tied. It’s only a little after that before he throws away his inhibitions completely, and normally, after getting hammered, Liam can’t remember but a few minute details from the night before. He can never fully remember anything important, and drunk-dialing Zayn would be considered pretty damn important if you were to ask him.

“Okay mate?” Andy asks, yawning and scratching a hand down his bare chest. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“You smell like you seen one,” Liam replies, wrinkling his nose and collapsing on the couch. Plastic cups are everywhere and he jostles them when he flops back, but he couldn’t care any less than he does right now. He called Zayn last night, drunk, doesn’t remember a thing, and supposedly complimented his arse.

Liam doesn’t want to know what else he said.

“You don’t smell too hot either,” Andy says, reminding Liam that yes, he also does need a shower, even though that’s not the most important thing right now. “You look like you lost your best friend, man.”

Liam bites back a groan at that, choosing to ignore Andy in favor of wallowing. He’s going to have to ask Zayn what he said eventually, and he figures that he might as well get it out of the way now.

He juggles the phone in his hands a couple time, opening the text conversation and closing out of it three times before forcing his hungover brain to work.

 **_To Zayn:_ ** _I said you have a nice arse?_

Zayn doesn’t reply right away, and Liam tries not to chew through his lip in anticipation. He’s pretty sure he’s shaking and he needs to chill out. Deep breaths. In, out. Repeat.

He pinches his nose when his phone lights up with a new message.

 **_From Zayn:_ ** _That was one of the milder things, yeah._

 **_From Zayn:_ ** _Your mouth is filthy when you’re drunk, I hope you know._

Oh God.

Liam wonders if it’s safe to say that his life is over, because his life is over.

 **_To Zayn:_ ** _I’M SO SO SO SORRY I REALLY AM_

 **_To Zayn:_ ** _I AM SUPER SUEPR SORRY ZAYN REALLY SO SRORY_

 **_From Zayn:_ ** _It’s no problem, what time do you want to meet on Wednesday?_

__________

It’s Wednesday, Liam’s standing in front of Zayn’s front door, and he wants to disappear. Just vaporize into thin air and never be seen again. They can have a funeral in his honor, his brothers.

Instead, he smooths out the Henley that Louis had helped him pick out (saying that _you look extra fuckable when you wear those, Liam, trust me_ ) bunching it up til it’s at his elbows and taking a deep breath. He checks his phone once more to make sure that he’s got the right address and then he knocks. And he waits.

And then the door swings open and Zayn’s there sans glasses and Liam thinks that the entire world freezes for a second. It has to, because he can’t comprehend how somebody can look so _good_. Liam decides in that split second that Zayn’s a masterpiece. He’s a painting of a brush dipped in gold and amber drizzled into honey eyes, eyelashes swept low and cheekbones made of marble and stone. Liam wants to touch him, but he’d figured he might actually get cut.

Zayn’s wearing sweatpants and a shirt that’s swept low at the collar, showing off even more tattoos that Liam didn’t know were there. Liam wants to explore him. He wants to make a map of inked constellations on Zayn’s skin and connect every untouched dot with his tongue. He wants to anchor himself to this boat and guide himself along every single curve and dip and hell, Liam had always thought that Zayn was attractive but this is the first time that he’s thought that he’s _beautiful._

(Louis pops into the back of his head, how he had pat Liam on the back and told Liam _go get ‘em_ and—jokingly—how he wasn’t allowed back until he’d at least given Zayn a blowjob. How he was still eager about Liam sleeping with Zayn, how he’d wrinkled his nose when Liam had called him Zayn instead of Professor Malik because that was getting a little too personal from comfort. _Remember, just another notch in the bedpost, Liam_.)

Zayn speaks first, since Liam seems to have forgotten every word of every language known to man when he laid eyes on Zayn. “You wanna come in?”

Liam nods, wiping his hands on his jeans before clearing his throat. “Right, uh—yeah.”

Walking into Zayn’s flat, Liam’s a bit overwhelmed. He knew that Zayn was the messy type of organized, having seen his booth and his desk many times, but he hadn’t expected this. There’s papers strewn all across his coffee table, folders and pens and pencils but that’s not really what catches Liam’s attention. It’s the artwork on the walls. Liam would’ve thought that he’d bought it all were it not for the paints and spray cans all swept into one corner of the living room.

“So you’re an artist too?”

Zayn snorts at that. “Drunk-Liam wouldn’t have been as shocked as you are.”

Liam had hoping that they wouldn’t have to go back over that. He runs a hand through his hair and hopes that he looks half as apologetic as he feels. “What’d I say?”

Zayn raises his brows, collapsing on his sofa and pulling two copies of the same novel seemingly from nowhere. “C’mon, we’ve got work to do.”

“ _Zayn_ ,” Liam groans, and that’s the first that he’s said his first name out loud _to_ him, and Zayn watches him with interest. “I just want to know what I said.” He sits down next to him on the sofa anyhow, shoving over yet _more_ papers.

“Dunno how well I can impersonate you, but,” Zayn clears his throat, putting on his best hammered-Liam voice, “ _You’ve got long fingers. Pretty fingers. Artist fingers. Artist hands._ And then you went on to say some pretty inappropriate things as to what else my hands would be good for. Your face is _way_ too innocent for that mouth, Liam.”

Liam knows he flushes, knows his entire chest is flushed and he buries his face in his hands. “Like I said, I’m _really_ sorry.”

Zayn shrugs. “It was entertaining. Otherwise I wouldn’t have stayed on the phone for so long.”

“I basically had one-way phone sex with you and thought it was _funny_. Oh my _God_.” Liam possibly won’t look up from his hands again. “You’re my _teacher_ and you have to _teach_ me. Oh my _God_.”

“I said entertaining, not funny,” Zayn corrects, and Liam peeks through his fingers, making Zayn wrinkle his nose at him. “I can’t even see you as cute anymore when I know that you can say things that dirty.”

“You saw me as cute?”

Zayn looks at him like he’s dense, and okay, yes, sometimes Liam admits that he can be but he knows that this is not one of those times. If there were any signs, he would’ve seen them. “You think that if I didn’t think that you were cute that I would’ve stayed on the phone for so long, Liam?”

“But—” he actually doesn’t have an answer for this, if he’s honest, “you’re my teacher.”

“Which is why I hadn’t acted on anything before,” Zayn sighs, and then says, “but you’re absolutely filthy, so I don’t know how much longer that’s going to hold out.”

Liam blanches. A) Zayn had listened to Liam go on about a list of dirty things he wants from him (from what Liam has concluded). B) Zayn wants to fuck him. C) All he can think about is Louis, and _just another notch on the bedpost_ and how he doesn’t think that he wants that to hold true anymore.

Zayn notices Liam’s silence, tensing and clearing his throat with a, “Unless I’m completely freaking you out. In which case, never mind.”

“No,” Liam starts, “No! I’m just—I’m processing. I’m taking a moment. This is—it’s like—I just—” he cuts off because Zayn kisses him. It’s off center and there’s too much teeth, their noses bump against each other and it’s all wrong and all right at the same time. Liam turns his body more, crumpling papers in the process but he doesn’t care, bringing one hand up to the side of Zayn’s face, holding him there because there’s no way that this is real. He’s going to wake up in a few seconds to sticky sheets and covered in sweat, he knows.

Zayn pulls back only to shove Liam (a bit ungracefully) against the sofa, crawling over to him until he’s straddling him. “Sorry for, like, biting you,” he mumbles out, lips grazing where his teeth had nicked Liam. “Got a bit carried away.”

Liam doesn’t bother to respond, finding his mouth and it’s all tongue and teeth again, and Liam knows he’s hard. He thinks he’s doing okay though, thinks he can handle this, sliding his fingers from where they’d rested on Zayn’s ass to the bottom of his shirt. “Can I?”

Zayn nods, already helping to shimmy out of the sinful piece of fabric, and Liam has to catch his breath when it’s off, blinking at Zayn like he’s an entirely new person. He’s got tattoos _everywhere_ , from a snake that curves along his shoulder to a quote that Liam swears is Arabic on his collarbone. There’s a gorgeous pair of wings spread out across his sternum with a pair of red-hot lips in the middle that Liam wants to replace with his own, mark with his own mouth and press it deep in there. There’s a gun that disappears down his waistband and Liam just _stares_ because he can’t help himself.

“What?” Zayn asks through spit-slicked lips and yeah, Liam did that to him. _He_ did that. “I know I have a lot, okay, but—”

“No, fuck, I—” Liam’s brain short-circuits for a moment, and he doesn’t even know where he was going with that. “You’re just—you’re so fucking out of my league.”

Zayn hums at that, tugging Liam’s face back to kiss him slow and hot and deep. “Why don’t you take me into my room and I can show you why that’s not true.”

Liam thinks he might have an aneurysm when Zayn runs his fingertips down Liam’s arm, blunt nails scratching along his biceps. He lets out a groan, eyes falling shut before he can breathe again.

“You told me over the phone that you were going to _carry me over the threshold like a fucking married couple_.” Zayn grins at him, this blinding smile that crinkles his eyes. “So I think you should do that. Carry me in my room. Fuck me into my mattress. What was it you said? Until I can’t walk, I think it was you said.”

Liam pouts. “You’re judging me and making fun of me.”

“Never,” Zayn says, lie clearly evident.

Liam doesn’t say anything, kissing him once (and he swears that something like this isn’t supposed to feel so normal and safe, like he’s done this a thousand times before) and hoists him up, hands going under Zayn’s ass while Zayn wraps his legs around Liam’s waist, one hand clutching his Henley and the other at the nape of Liam’s neck, scratching at the hairs there.

“Can’t see where I’m going,” Liam tells him, and Zayn responds with, “Last door on the right,” before planting his lips on Liam’s neck, biting at the skin right underneath his jaw and making Liam’s knees go weak, stumbling against the wall of the hallway to adjust Zayn in his arms, hissing through his teeth.

Zayn smirks, he actually fucking smirks, and Liam wants to kill him. Wants to fuck him into the grave or some other weird, kinky shit like that.

His shoulder finally knocks into the last door on the right, fingers reaching for the doorknob before pushing the door open. He goes forward until his knees knock against the edge of Zayn’s bed, tilting Zayn back until he’s laid flush against the mattress. Zayn’s got his blinds partly drawn, sunlight streaming in in thick lines, outlining his face like some sort of painting. He looks like he’s made of pure gold and sugar and Liam wants a taste so badly, wants to hear Zayn pant his name. Liam can’t write for shit and his papers prove that, but he’s pretty sure that these are the kinds of features that poets write about. If Liam could write, he’d make a whole novel about how Zayn looks right now.

“You’re staring,” Zayn says, quietly, and Liam blinks up at him. He seems unsure, like maybe he thinks that Liam’s having second thoughts, and Liam wants to kiss the worry lines away.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says instead, and then grins. “And also, this is my territory now. I like being in control.”

“You might’ve mentioned that,” Zayn supplies, hips canting up and brushing against Liam’s and _fuck_ , that’s the first time that they’d had contact like that, and he already feels like it’s too much. “Said you wanted to pin me up against a wall.”

“Later,” Liam says, and Zayn groans.

“Holding you to that.”

Liam laughs into his mouth, feeling a little more confident (and lot less surreal) than he did just minutes before in the other room. He plants one hand on the side of Zayn’s head, the other moving between his legs, palming him through his sweatpants.

Zayn lets out the worst kind of whine, eyes screwing shut and head pressing against his duvet, and Liam can feel him through his joggers. He can feel the outline of his dick, thick and heavy and—Liam wants to taste him, wants him in his mouth.

“Gonna suck you off,” he slurs, a bit dopily, and Zayn’s hips push up, grinding into Liam’s palm, a gasp leaving his lips, “that okay?”

“’Course it’s fucking okay,” Zayn says, and then opens his eyes, shaking his head a bit wildly. “Shirt off though. You’re still—you’re dressed. Shirt off, pants off—just—”

Liam swallows the rest of that sentence, biting Zayn’s lip and easing out of his shirt. It’s not the sexiest thing that he’s done, definitely not worthy of the way Zayn’s watching him with hungry, lidded eyes, and he tosses the shirt off somewhere, making quick work of kicking off his jeans and socks as well. He’s left in only his boxers and it’s painfully obvious how hard he is, straining in them, and Zayn lets out a strangled groan, which—right. Right.

Liam kisses across his clavicle, biting at the smooth skin just to see the angry red welts it’ll leave behind. He starts to trail his mouth down Zayn’s chest, laying his tongue around the bead of Zayn’s nipple, swirling his tongue around it until Zayn pushes at his shoulders, one leg coming to wrap around Liam’s waist and heel digging into the base of Liam’s spine.

“Like that?” he asks just to be cheeky, and Zayn replies with a sigh, biting at his hand, which is just unacceptable. Liam grabs at it, taking it away. “Want to hear you,” he explains.

Then he’s taking the other nipple into his mouth and Zayn makes the most beautiful gasp, calling out, “ _Leeyum, fuck,”_ and Liam’s never heard his name sound more syrupy and sweet. Zayn rolls his hips up into air, biting his lip before releasing it and letting out a frustrated huff. “ _Please_.”

Liam hums against his abdomen before slipping his fingers under the waistband of Zayn’s joggers, tugging them off with no difficulty and stopping to stare again because he _has_ to. You can see the wet patch against the green of his boxers, and Liam covers it with his mouth, biting at his length through the fabric until Zayn is clawing at his shoulders. “Don’t fucking tease me— _ah_ —Liam, I— _fuck—_ don’t.”

The end of that sentence doesn’t make sense but Liam doesn’t say so, biting at Zayn’s thighs just for the hell of it before pulling Zayn’s boxers off. His cock slaps against his stomach, the tip a dark red and already leaking, and Liam licks his hand, pumping him a few times before taking him into his mouth. He goes slow, lips stretching around the head and licking at the slit which has Zayn moaning loudly, shuddering into his mouth. Then he takes him down as far as he can, his own hips rocking into the mattress to relieve some of the pressure because he’s so turned on right now.

“Good?” Liam asks when he comes up for air, but he doesn’t even think Zayn processes what he said.

“Yeah,” Zayn’s voice is tight and strained, and his heel digs a little harder into Liam’s back. He’s leaning up on his elbows now, drunk, whiskey eyes watching Liam’s every move. “Want you to fuck me.” His head tilts back, and he looks like pure porn.

Liam has to close his eyes and remember how to breathe so that he doesn’t come from that alone, taking Zayn back into his mouth instead, one hand coming to fondle his balls. Building up a steady rhythm, his finger brushes back along Zayn’s crack, finger circling the edge of his hole, and that has Zayn clenching around nothing.

“Lube?”

Zayn looks a mess, and he takes a deep breath, chest quivering before waving in the general direction of his nightstand. “First drawer,” he says, voice already wrecked.

Liam reaches in clumsily, finds the lube and pulls out the box of condoms for good measure, coating his fingers with way more than needed and watches as a little drips onto Zayn’s thighs. “Oops.”

He guides one finger in first, watches how every muscle in Zayn’s face contorts, mouth falling open and eyes screwing shut again, eyelashes framing his face and looking like a low amber in the dim light. It takes him a minute to look fully relaxed, and Liam keeps that finger inside of him, making sure that he’s comfortable before adding another. He thrusts them in and out shallowly and when Zayn starts to push back he scissors them until Zayn jerks up, hips twisting, mouth letting out harsh sobs and fingers gripping at Liam’s shoulders.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” he moans, “right there, it’s just—it’s— _ah—_ it’s right there Liam.”

Liam’s smart enough to figure out that he’s found his prostate, hitting that spot again as he eases in a third finger and hoping that the pleasure outweighs the pain. It seems to work and Zayn’s panting, letting out these absolutely filthy sobs that Liam wants to plague his dreams every night.

Eventually Liam props Zayn’s leg on his shoulder, kissing his shoulder. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Zayn mumbles, looking far gone already, “Ready, yeah.”

Liam drops his own boxers, lubing himself up and lining against Zayn’s hole. He kisses him deep as he pushes inside, bottoming out in one smooth thrust. Zayn’s face twists in pain, biting at his fist again with one hand and using the older to scratch along Liam’s back. Liam’s arms are trembling at how good he feels, this warm wet heat that’s all _ZaynZaynZayn_ and he groans into the kiss that Zayn’s not really responding to until he pulls back and says, “Good. I’m good. You can—you can move, I’m good.”

Liam wants to question it but he doesn’t have the willpower to, pulling out slowly and almost completely before thrusting back in again, Zayn arching into him like a lock into a key. That’s how they feel, he thinks wildly, like some sort of puzzle, and Liam’s thoughts aren’t even coherent anymore so he stops thinking altogether.

“You feel so good,” he whispers into Zayn’s neck, “So—so good. So good for me.”

Zayn moans at that, breath ragged as Liam drags against him, as he pushes back into him and feels like he’s taking him apart and putting him back together in the same breath.

“You can’t even speak,” Liam laughs a little crazily, blissed out and drunk on Zayn, hand reaching down for his dick against the gorgeous symphony of their bodies together. “Are you—you close?”

Zayn nods wordlessly, a low, raw groan ripping from his throat when Liam gets a hand around him, and Liam falls on his elbow for support, body trembling when Zayn starts to fuck into his hand.

“Tell me how it feels,” Liam says, biting at his jaw and Zayn whimpers. He fucking _whimpers_.

“Feel full,” he says, voice desperate, “full and—good. So fucking good.”

Zayn’s hand runs through Liam’s hair, pulling on the strands before he thrusts into Liam’s hand once, twice, mouth falling open. He comes with Liam’s name on his lips, voice cracking on the syllable and Liam wants to frame it. Wants to frame that noise and hang it up so everyone knows it’s his.

Zayn starts to spill over his hand and that brings Liam to the edge, thrusting a few times more times, Zayn clenching beneath him, pulsing in waves and Liam thinks he sees galaxies behind his eyes when he finally comes, his body pushing in deep and collapsing into Zayn right after.

Neither of them say anything right after, the room filled with the smell of sex and labored breathing, and when Liam thinks he can move again he pushes up on weak arms, pulling out of Zayn and tying off the condom, tossing it into a nearby wastebasket.

Zayn looks dizzy and sleepy, and Liam kisses his cheek before pushing up on unsteady legs to find something to wipe him off with. He returns moments later with a wet cloth, wiping up the already drying come on Zayn’s stomach, which Zayn smiles at, eyelashes fanning.

“Chivalry’s not going to raise your grade any,” he mumbles, and Liam snorts at him.

“Said that about the coffee too.”

“M’serious this time,” Zayn says, nodding, and blinks slowly, like he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. “We’ll start on the book later. If you do good enough I might ride you later.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t sound too excited, it’s a might,” Zayn answers, but there’s still that dopey grin on his face, and he beckons Liam closer. “Now c’mere. I’m a man that likes post-sex cuddles.”

Liam does.

__________

“Well?” Louis asks, inspecting the marks on Liam’s neck with an amused glance, “I can assume that things went well.”

Liam only hums, turning back to his phone.

 **_From Zayn:_ ** _I’m serious, just because I like having sex with you doesn’t mean that I’m going to treat you better than any other student. (Also, don’t forget that nobody finds out.)_

 **_To Zayn:_ ** _you don’t like having sex with me, you LOVE it_

 **_From Zayn:_ ** _Why am I not surprised that that’s all you got out of that? Goodbye, Liam. I’ll see you in class. x_

 **_To Zayn:_ ** _see you!! I expect my grade up by 30 points :D x_

 **_From Zayn:_ ** _dork :) x_

And okay, so maybe Liam’s grade didn’t shoot up, and also, because he promised Zayn that nobody ( _nobody_ excluded Louis, Harry, Niall, and his boys of course) would find out (yet), he didn’t get any fraternity points.

But really, he is _so_ alright with that.

 **_To Zayn:_ ** _:) x_

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr by joyfuliam x


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